Eye of the Beholder
by Carole
Summary: Will discovers that the voices in Jack's head might be a bit more real than he thought. JackWill


Title: Eye of the Beholder  
Author: Carole  
E-mail: kronos999@yahoo.ca  
Homepage:   
  
Pairing: Jack/Will  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Beyond slashiness, none that I can think of.  
Archive: List, sure. Others, just ask first. I want to  
know where it is going.  
  
Disclaimer: The mouse owns them, but I'm sure he  
doesn't appreciate them as much as I would.  
  
Summary: Will discovers that the voices in Jack's head  
might be a bit more real than he thought. Will POV  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Eye of the Beholder  
by Carole  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Jack was not beautiful. He was not like Elizabeth with  
her slim delicate build, golden hair and skin as a  
soft as feather's down. He was something completely  
removed from beauty. No, instead he was wind whipped  
braids and mats of hair, smile that flashed golden  
when he laughed and words that moved from brilliant to  
nonsensical in an instant, and sometimes there was no  
distinguishing between the two. He did not smell of  
perfume and roses, but of salt and sweat and sea.  
About him, like a miasma, hung the faint hint of  
alcohol even when he was sober, a hint that was no  
longer faint when the occasion struck him, which was  
something that happened a great deal more often than  
any reputable man would have allowed. Not that such a  
thing would stand in the way of Jack Sparrow, who had  
been called the best (and worst) pirate in the  
Caribbean. It blended into something that was uniquely  
Jack, something that was all the more noticeable for  
the lack of regularity he apparently had when it came  
to bathing. The combination was not entirely pleasant,  
in many ways, just like the man himself.  
  
Most of the time Will wasn't sure he liked him at all.  
Not only did his unsanitary habits wear on his nerves,  
but Jack had a talent for simply pissing him off. Will  
didn't know if it was completely deliberate, but he  
had his suspicions.  
  
He was an abrasive drunkard who could not keep his  
hands where they belonged, whether flailing about in  
the air or becoming too comfortable with those around  
him. Tavern wenches and Anna Maria had both had Jack  
become too familiar and, while the tavern wenches did  
not mind, Anna Maria was liable to remove said  
appendages if it happened once too often. As it was,  
Jack had experienced bumps and bruises in interesting  
places. Even with Will, his comradery would have been  
pushing the bounds of propriety had he been anyone but  
Jack Sparrow who found propriety a useless thing to be  
discarded at a moments notice.  
  
Though it was true he could be charming when he chose.  
Especially since he was a consummate liar, drunk or  
sober, and proudly admitted to being a dishonest man.  
Usually, though, he was as much confusing as he was  
dishonest making whether he told the truth or not an  
irrelevant factor. His best lies were the honest ones.  
  
And Will came to learn that there were many scorned  
lovers in his past, for Jack seemed to stay true to  
nothing but the sea and his ship. There was a small  
part of himself, though he didn't like to admit it,  
that took a bit of delight in the slap from every  
offended woman as such fickleness was offensive to his  
moral senses, even coming from a pirate. Except in the  
cases where the women glared at him in ways that, had  
he been the less brave sort, would have made him run  
back to the Pearl and never set foot on land again. As  
if, somehow, Will was in any way responsible for  
Jack's behaviour.   
  
Too, when he thought about it, the comments about his  
manliness right from the start hadn't helped his  
feelings much.  
  
And he would like to be trusted to steer the Pearl  
once, just once. Really, was that so much to ask?  
  
Still, he was the one at Jack's back, a position no  
one else attempted to take. Or perhaps they were too  
smart to do so. But Will would ride the dangerous  
waters of circumstance along with his captain and it  
was only afterwards, after the high of adrenaline and  
moments of synchrony, that he dared question it and  
found it made no sense whatsoever.  
  
Then he would be asked to go along with some other  
harebrained scheme that dared all manner of ills.  
Somehow, he would be drawn in yet again, no matter how  
loud or logical his protests about how it wouldn't,  
couldn't possibly succeed which were stilled with a  
mere sentence.  
  
The explanation of 'Because I'm Captain Jack Sparrow'  
had infuriated him, until he realized how true it was.  
Being around Jack was like being caught up in a never  
ending tempest. He fell again and again into  
impossible situations and came through unscathed,  
though the average man would be dead a hundred times  
over. Tendrils of his luck, not necessarily good luck  
mind, extended around him, ensnaring like a spider's  
web any within reach. Some were lucky and escaped,  
merely brushing shoulders with the impossible, but  
others were trapped beyond hope of reprieve. The  
longer you spent in Jack's company, the less likely  
escape seemed. Sometimes you could pass for a time in  
the eyes of the storm, the false calm that was sure to  
end as quickly as it began, with no warnings either  
way.  
  
There was an intensity when one was about Jack,  
especially then, that prodded into witnesses of his  
miraculous scrapes with death that did not even leave  
the passers by unscathed. An intensity mirroring his  
love for his ship and the sea. This drew the fly into  
the spiders den for good.  
  
It was his eyes, Will decided, shining in their  
darkened rims, when they turned with that same  
intensity on him. It was as if, at some point he  
hadn't noticed, he had ceased to be that annoying  
'honest lad' and he didn't know what that look meant  
exactly, but it made him nervous and uncomfortable. He  
stayed anyway. He couldn't bring himself to leave,  
which was what annoyed him about Jack most of all.  
  
Sometimes, in the moments when the world turned upside  
down, Will had fancies that Jack was not a man at all,  
but some strange mad god that had risen out of the sea  
fully formed and into his life.  
  
And when the sun fell from the heavens in a tapestry  
of light with Jack standing at the helm in a gleam of  
red and gold, he caught himself believing them. Of  
course, this always passed quickly, for all he had to  
do was remember all the other times he had spent in  
the man's company and good sense would dissuade him  
from such foolishness. Jack had too many baser  
instincts to be anything but a man indeed.  
  
Perhaps because or perhaps in spite of these  
qualities, Will was here, stepping onto the deck of  
the most infamous ship in the Caribbean. Though it was  
now crewed by living men, the legend of the Black  
Pearl would take time to fade.  
  
The air was salty and sprays of water misted across  
his skin. He blinked, freeing himself from the  
shackles of sleep, eyes slowly focusing on the forms  
of the vessel around him that was illuminated by  
starlight and moonshine. He reached up with one hand  
and pulled his now unruly hair back from his face in a  
practiced gesture.  
  
Behind him the other members of the Pearl's crew lay  
in drunken oblivion, victims of a challenge taken too  
far. Only his abstinence as judge, and the inner  
knowledge that Jack should have at least one  
functional crew member, had prevented him from the  
same fate, though exhaustion had forced him to close  
his eyes without his consent.  
  
In spite of this, there was one other who had  
strangely avoided the travesty below. Indeed, he had  
not joined in at all but for a single swig before  
wishing them merry and vanishing. A lone figure could  
be made out at the helm of the vessel, one Jack  
Sparrow in solitary company. Though one wouldn't have  
known it by his actions.  
  
He was talking to himself. This was not the most  
unusual activity, per say, as Will had done it also on  
occasion. That he appeared to be talking to either his  
ship, the sea, or both in an animated discussion  
utilizing some tongue that had never before crossed  
human lips was somewhat disturbing. It became  
especially more so given that he was the man  
navigating. One hand moved in an almost graceful  
flutter to emphasize some unknown point.  
  
Too much drink had obviously addled his brain over the  
years through his constant abuse of it.  
  
It certainly didn't help that his words raised  
gooseflesh on Will's skin, like he could almost  
understand what Jack was prattling on about. The idea  
that Jack had affected him that much was nearly as  
terrifying as the rest of the man's peculiarities  
combined.  
  
A part of him wanted to move his feet back below deck.  
There was another part that pulled him forward. It was  
that part of him that liked being part of Jack's  
confidence, for surely his presence was known. While  
this prescience was limited, on the Black Pearl, it  
seemed that Jack could sense the scurry of every rat,  
let alone the presence of another human being. It  
amazed him that Barbossa had managed to accomplish a  
mutiny.  
  
Or, more likely, Jack had realized that he would be  
the only one able to walk with steady feet.  
  
If it had been anyone else, the voice would have moved  
onto a madness more human in it's intent. That it did  
not was telling. For there were things that Jack would  
say, not in secrecy precisely, but out of the range of  
the crew's ears that Will was privileged to overhear.  
  
He continued, legs accustomed to the slight rolling of  
the ship with the ease of growing practice, especially  
on a calm night such as this. Will made his way to  
stand a few feet ahead of the steering wheel.  
  
The nonsensical babble ceased momentarily and he  
turned, hands clasped behind his back, to see Jack  
remove his tattered hat. The man gave a slight bow, as  
one would to a lady, and a glimmer of teeth could be  
seen between shadowed lips at the mockery.  
  
"Good morrow, Mr. Turner." The ragtag article returned  
to its usual place. "And how are you this fine day?"  
  
"It is hardly day yet, Captain."  
  
A hand flicked up in the air in response, denying his  
objection. "Soon enough there, luv."  
  
Will didn't even blink at the endearment. When one was  
around Jack Sparrow, one learned to accept some things  
and endure. It also gave him unspoken permission to  
drop formality.  
  
With that comment, Jack went back to his previous  
conversation. It made Will's ears itch and pressure  
build slightly behind his eyes.  
  
His control lasted five minutes, if that.  
  
"Just what are you saying?" he asked finally when he  
could stand it no longer. And as Jack opened his  
mouth, he amended his statement slightly. "And don't  
tell me it's Chinese." Not that Will had many dealings  
with Chinamen, but there was one who had managed to  
make his way into Port Royal some years ago and,  
overcome by the curious youth, the man had indulged  
his enthusiasm for a few brief hours. When one lived  
in a port city, languages were something that you  
could at least recognize.  
  
The statement had a secondary meaning of 'Jack, I'm  
not a complete idiot, in spite of what you may think.'  
  
"Just a bit o' this and that. It's not something that  
explaining would help, if'n you can't get it. Savvy?"  
Something in his tone seemed regretful, sad even, and  
perhaps a bit puzzled, that Will had needed to ask at  
all.  
  
"Try." Will glared at him in the grey half light.  
  
"Well, its like this. Everything..." he trailed off  
with a grandiose sweeping gesture. "Everything has a  
voice, aye? And there are, let's call'm things, that  
speak a bit louder than others 'round the sea. And  
once a man starts listen to 'em, well, it's like..."  
  
For once Will saw Jack at a loss for words, probably  
the only time such a thing would ever happen. His head  
tilted, twisting his hat askew.  
  
"It's like you can't really stop hearing 'em. Drink  
and anything else just makes 'em louder. And soon,  
you don't want to stop listening. Like it'd be better  
to hang than leave 'em behind."  
  
As a whole, the entire explanation was unsatisfactory  
rubbish, but Will could see Jack was at least  
attempting to answer his question honestly. After all,  
the man was a bit touched. Was it any wonder he heard  
voices?  
  
"This isn't the same claim I've heard sailors use as  
an excuse to leave good women behind, saying that  
they're already married to the sea?" he asked with  
suspicion.  
  
Jack shook his head in a negative gesture. "Nothing  
like that at all, luv. Now, I've met many a man that  
belonged to the sea and wouldn't leave her to marry  
anyone." He was fixed with a wicked grin. "Of course,  
he might give her a try or two, as a parting gift  
like."  
  
At the comment, Will seethed inwardly. His mother's  
haggard face, the sacrifices she had made to support  
them both until her death came back to him. Her eyes  
were always sad, even when she had smiled at him. Him,  
who looked just like his father.  
  
Will's face must have shown his disapproval. Jack, no  
doubt taking it for a bout of morality, chuckled. Will  
twitched visibly at the sound and was about to make a  
scathing reply when the other man cut him off with a  
very unexpected statement.  
  
"I think I'll have to be stepping up your education a  
bit. Take her."  
  
It took a minute for Will to realize what Jack was  
talking about. He stood stunned. Him? Wasn't this the  
same Jack who had said that for the sake of their  
lives he shouldn't be allowed within five feet of the  
rudder?  
  
Well, why not? Will didn't think he'd do that bad a  
job. After all, hadn't he done just fine during  
Elizabeth's rescue?  
  
He turned fully, crossing the short distance to Jack's  
side and grasped the helm with one hand. He followed  
with the other as Jack stepped back to give him room.  
The wood brushed roughly against calluses gained from  
many years as a smith's apprentice.  
  
He sensed Jack before the Pearl's captain wrapped  
around behind him, grabbing one hand and pressing it  
further into the wood. The second came to rest on his  
shoulder in a comfortable weight.  
  
"What...?" he asked in singularly intelligent fashion.  
  
His query was cut off as Jack leaned in close, the  
hand on his shoulder curling up as the man raised a  
finger to his lips.  
  
"Shhh. You can't listen if you're talking."  
  
A warm thumb gently soothed and caressed the back of  
his hand in small circles. Will ignored it.  
  
"What would you know about it? You never shut up."  
  
"Well, I'm not the one who needs to be listening, am  
I?" Jack's breath was hot in his ear and moved his  
hair across his cheek. Rough braids scratched against  
the side of Will's neck. "Close your eyes."  
  
Will almost turned to look at him questioningly, but  
then thought better of it and humoured him. Lids  
slipped closed leaving him in blackness. He could feel  
the smile at his easy compliance. He tensed. Why was  
he doing this?  
  
Jack could obviously feel the change under his hands.  
"Don't get thinking too hard, Will. Listen."  
  
Will breathed, attempting to empty his mind of stray  
thoughts. The pair stood that way for several minutes.  
Jack kept humming in his ear, a faint off key buzz and  
ideas flitted back and forth, never complete, in an  
inner monologue.  
  
When Jack spoke again, he nearly jumped. "You're still  
thinking too much, luv. Take your tongue and press it  
to the roof of your mouth." Will complied, mystified,  
and was surprised when his inner voice quieted to a  
murmur. Unfortunately, that only made the presence  
behind him even more distracting and couldn't Jack  
stop with that blasted hum?  
  
He was about to tell him so when he realized that Jack  
was silent and that wasn't a hum he was listening to  
at all. Someone was singing, a note so clear and pure  
that he nearly wept for it. No, it was not someone,  
but someones and that voice expanded into a hundred,  
no, a thousand smaller voices and notes and whispers.  
  
They sung together, in harmony, and it was joy and  
sorrow and somehow he knew that here the water was  
more shallow and there a school of fish, immense in  
size was passing by. And the harmony became a jumble  
of sounds and voices, not so pleasant or beautiful,  
but real like the tide and wind and the scent of Jack  
that surrounded him. They were not voices he heard  
with his ears, but they entered through his skin and  
eyes and drifted to linger in his brain and perhaps he  
really had gone as mad as a hatter.  
  
No doubt about it, Jack had finally driven him over  
the edge and plunged him into an abyss so deep that  
there was no way he would ever manage to crawl out.  
  
It went on for a moment more, and Will thought that it  
was like the divine hand of creation had lingered here  
too long and left a bit of itself behind in the  
waters. It must be like what those who had an honest  
calling to the clergy felt and he suddenly understood  
how a man could devote himself to such a thing so  
intangible as faith.   
  
Then he fell back slightly into Jack and his eyes flew  
open with a start. For an instant he expected to see  
all that he had heard, but the only difference from  
when his eyes had closed was that the sky appeared to  
be brightening on the eastern horizon. Everything was  
silent again save for the beating of two pairs of  
hearts, the rush of air moving in and out of lungs and  
the sounds of a ship sailing through a calm sea.  
  
What had jerked him out of his trance was perhaps  
hearing more than a mortal man was meant to and his  
mind clung as a last desperate effort to sanity or,  
more likely, it was that Jack was nibbling on his  
earlobe. If he had been in his right mind, Will had no  
doubt he would have turned and punched him, but as it  
was he just stood there, unable to even form words,  
let alone move. No, no doubt at all.  
  
"Are you alright there, luv?"  
  
Will didn't answer, but Jack had at least removed his  
teeth and tongue. The wind grew stronger, a brush of  
unseen spirits that swirled about them, touching with  
invisible hands.  
  
"Your father could hear it too, sometimes. That's how  
I knew you'd be back. It's in your blood and you can't  
escape it. Now, I know you're going off to make your  
fortune and all, but I want you to think about  
something real careful like." He paused, as if  
preparing himself. "Now, Miss Swann is a fiery one, no  
mistaking that, and, had I met her under other  
circumstances... but that was not to be. Save her life  
and the girl burns up all me rum." His voice filled  
with a mournful longing that would not have been out  
of place at a funeral. He leaned into Will's shoulder,  
as if to catch his balance, sighing to himself. After  
a moment, he continued. "Anyway, could she live up to  
that, day by day, when you're stuck by her side?"  
  
Word's still wouldn't form, not even in defence of a  
dream that he'd cherished for so many years. "I...  
That..."  
  
"Of course, it's even better with rum."  
  
At the irreverent statement, he finally found his  
voice. "That's your answer to everything."  
  
"Not quite everything." It seemed that Jack managed to  
get even closer to his ear and Will was very aware of  
the press of Jack against him, warm breath passing  
over flesh at the words. "Some things are worth the  
sacrifice of sobriety. It makes certain articles work  
better."  
  
Once again, Will decided to ignore the obvious  
implications of that statement. So instead of  
recoiling in disgust, he asked, "Is this what the sea  
is to you?"  
  
"Not just the sea, luv. It's freedom. It's  
everything."  
  
That seemed more like a willing sort of slavery than  
any freedom he'd ever heard of. "Freedom? You could  
lose yourself in that. That's not freedom at all."  
  
And no doubt Jack already had lost himself long ago.  
His mind had simply wandered off and never returned.  
  
"But I know something most men don't, eh? When the  
Pearl and I go down together, we know where we'll end  
up." It was as if there was no doubt that the pair  
would be cradled in the same watery grave. "As long as  
I die over water, or close enough to it. That's a  
freedom all men dream of, knowing where they'll end up  
and where they belong. I have both."  
  
Just like Will knew where he belonged, had known for  
much longer than he had ever wanted to admit it to  
himself. The answer to why he found himself in the  
same position again and again.  
  
He would have to deal with that later. Later, when he  
didn't hear the faint stirrings of the crew who would  
no doubt appear at the worst possible time if he began  
anything now.   
  
"You're still mad," he stated with certainty,  
disentangling himself from Jack's embrace with quick,  
efficient motions.  
  
Yes, mad indeed and if such insanity had not be  
infectious, he wouldn't be here.  
  
"And what does that say about you?" There was a slight  
disappointment in his eyes, but Will met them  
directly.  
  
"That I am no doubt the crazier of the two of us."  
  
Crazy enough to follow him through hell and  
high-water.   
  
Jack smiled once again, even with his eyes. He must  
have read something into the words or glance that Will  
wasn't even sure he had meant to say.  
  
"Now that's the spirit." With that, Jack reached up  
with one hand and straightened his hat before throwing  
up his chin towards the beginnings of dawn and turning  
the Pearl towards the horizon. "To freedom."  
  
The ship ploughed through the lightly cresting waves  
and the timbers creaked. For an instant, Will thought  
he heard the murmuring of voices just beyond his  
understanding and he blinked, shaking his head, until  
they were drowned out by one much more substantial.  
  
"Drink up me hearties, yo ho..."  
  
The Black Pearl was not Jamaica. Here, no solid land  
greeted his feet, no buildings stood in his path, no  
trees filled the inner island with spires of brown and  
green. The Black Pearl was planks and rope, iron and  
tar and the expanse of the sea that now began to  
reflect golden like the vastest treasure ever  
conceived in a thousand dreams of greedy conquerors  
and buccaneers. Not like Port Royal at all with its  
fair haired women and dark commodores, but instead the  
home to a scraggly scallywag captain. It seemed that  
he would have no trouble devoting himself to something  
far more corporeal than faith. Lips quirking up in a  
smile, Will let his own reply slip between his teeth  
in a breath of air much to low for Jack, or anything  
else that might have been listening, to hear. "To  
freedom."  
  
Beauty was, after all, in the eye of the beholder.  
  
END  



End file.
